


Until I Catch My Breath

by sksai



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksai/pseuds/sksai
Summary: it's time. for czeng.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is based on these two things I've come up with in my self indulgent little brain:
> 
> http://softimdrake.tumblr.com/post/144530300851/im-excited-to-see-more-of-the-henry-noah
> 
> http://softimdrake.tumblr.com/post/151945698646/important-au-henry-x-noah-insp-a-post-trk
> 
> I recommend giving them a gander first if you want this story to make as much sense as it.....possibly can. 
> 
> title is from [catch - allie x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPwEqEuJI7g)

He liked her. She was tall and pretty, with warm olive skin and feline like features. She had this bouncy short dark hair. He thought maybe that’s what Blue would look like in 20 years. Only not so tall. 

 

20 years was a long time. Noah Czerny was going to live for a long time. 

 

That was when they had to stop and do another breathing exercise. 

 

*******

 

She didn’t know everything. She just knew the story they’d fed to the police, the media, to Noah’s family, was not the truth. 

 

Henry had found her for him. He promised him that she was trustworthy, that he could tell her anything, save for the whole being dead, undead, and then alive thing. Noah supposed Henry was paying her a whole lot to be trustworthy. But he liked to pretend she was just nice because she liked him, too. 

 

As much as he liked her cat eyes and wide lips that often twisted into wry, knowing smiles, she often said things that Noah didn’t very much care for. 

 

Like the first thing she’d ever said to him. 

 

She’d said: “Noah, I’m going to be honest with you. For this to work, the first thing we have to tackle is that you’re never going to be the person you were before. I know that sounds scary, or maybe depressing, or maybe you don’t believe me, but it is the truth. And it’s okay. It’s perfectly okay to not be able to go back. But it’s a lot for a human being to process, to accept. And I think that’s where we should begin.” 

 

She’d been right. Noah didn’t believe her. 

 

But she’d been double right. About the before stuff. It took Noah two solid weeks of daily sessions to realize that was 98 percent of the reason why he’d been so fucking miserable. 

 

Things were awkward with his family. He’d been expecting that. He was lying to them, after all. But he hadn’t expected the sort of uncomfortable tension that came with seven years of unexistence. They’d look at him and look at him and Noah wasn’t sure what they were trying to find. Until he was. They wanted the old Noah back. The one from before. 

 

What he couldn’t say out loud to the doctor was this: “It’s not just my family. It’s my friends, too. They want the other old Noah back. Dead me. The ghost of a person, neither here nor there.” 

 

Then she was triple right, the doctor, because Noah _was_ fucking depressed. 

 

If he couldn’t be the Noah his family remembered, or the Noah his friends missed, then what was the point of him? Why was he even here? 

 

*******

 

They worked on that for awhile. Sometimes he spent entire sessions just quietly crying into his hands. The doctor said it was okay. She said it was normal and healthy to mourn his past self. She said it would only bring him closer to being able to let it go. To move on. 

 

_Move on to what?_ Noah wondered. 

 

That was when she started saying other things he didn’t like. 

 

_ You have to figure out who you are now, who you want to be. Don’t look so crestfallen, Noah. This is the fun part _ . 

 

That, she wasn’t right about at all. 

 

*******

 

It never felt fun, or good, and most of the time he left his sessions feeling like a juicebox that had been slowly squeezed of all its contents and tossed into a dumpster. But he had to believe it was helping, making him better, even if it sucked. 

 

He stayed home and slept a lot. He eventually took the doctor’s advice and decided to write his family a letter. About the whole  _ the old Noah is dead, I’m the new Noah and I hope you can accept me _ thing. 

 

That actually felt kind of good. It was the closest thing to the truth his family was ever going to hear. 

 

He gave the note to Adele first. “Don’t read it til I’m out of the room!” he’d ordered, his face going hot. It should have been weird, how different she was than he remembered. Older. Sadder. Quieter. But of all the things to be bothered by with the trials and tribulations of reanimation, this was the thing that didn’t bother him in the slightest. Being around her made him feel settled, attached, grounded. Tethered to this world. Alive. 

 

But she looked at him the same way the rest of them did. Like he was stranger at a bus stop and she was just making polite conversation until her friend showed up. 

 

“And then give it to mom and dad.” He turned and fled back to the safety of his room before she could look at him like that again. 

 

His dad was the first one to knock. When Noah answered, he didn't have much to say. He just stared at him for a long time and then gave him a quick, hard hug. He sealed it with a smacking pat to Noah’s shoulder. Noah rattled under the touch. He felt like needed a paper bag to breathe into, but he forced himself to stay standing, gave his father a toothless smile, and that was that. 

 

Adele came next. 

 

She had a lot to say. 

 

“I know this doctor thinks she’s helping you and I, like, get where she’s coming from or whatever. And maybe she’s right. But maybe she isn’t! I just—I don’t agree with this idea that there’s two separate versions of you. Not in a way that...that you can’t...you know...find your old self again. I know you’ve been through—stuff!—and that  _ has _ changed you. Obviously. It’d change anyone. But I just...I don’t think that means you can’t find your old self again. I don’t think it means my brother is just  _ gone _ . I know he’s— _ you’re _ —in there somewhere. It’s just going to take some time.” 

 

She was crying by the end of it. Noah felt like crying too. 

 

He was content to let her leave, her piece spoken, and that be the end of it. 

 

But for some reason he couldn’t stop himself from saying, his voice drier than a bag of bones, “I thought I was your brother right now.” 

 

Adele rushed forward to embrace him in a fierce hug. “You are.” She pressed her face against his. “That’s what I mean.” 

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, honestly. 

 

“Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you’re not...still you.” She pulled back from him to fix her searching eyes on his. “You know?” 

 

He nodded once, awarded another smile, and collapsed into a dramatic heap as soon as she was gone. It was a nice thought, all that stuff his sister had said. He just didn’t know if any of it wasn’t total bullshit. 

 

He was steeling himself for his mother’s arrival, practicing the next smile he’d have to give, the inevitable hug he’d be forced to endure. But when the knock sounded, all that was waiting for him was a folded up piece of paper and a freshly baked loaf of banana bread. 

 

_ I don’t know if the New Noah still likes Old Noah’s Favorites.  _ There was a crudely drawn smiley face with its tongue sticking out.  _ But I hope maybe he’ll be willing to give it a try. We can talk more when you feel like it.  _

 

_ Love you, so much.  _

 

_ xoxo Mom.  _

 

It turned out metaphysical transformations had not, in fact, affected the satisfaction of his mother’s warm baked goods in his mouth. With a newfound zest for life, he pulled out his phone—a gift from Gansey, who’d been able to get his hands on an old motorola razr—and then Henry had dealt with the specifics of making it  _ work _ —and texted the one very person it occurred to him that might just be able to relate to, after all. 

 

*******

 

“When will you be home?” his mother’s voice was wary while Noah hastily pulled on a hoodie. 

 

“I don’t know,” Noah shrugged, feeling a shuddering rush of twisted nostalgia. 

 

“Who’s this you’re going out with now?” 

 

“I told you,” Noah sighed. “He’s from Group.” 

 

That was Adam’s bright idea. They’d agonized for days over how to explain  _ them _ to his family. 

 

_ You can tell them your therapy involves group sessions from time to time—for young people struggling with PTSD _ , Adam had thrown out eventually, saving the entire world. A speciality of his. 

 

“Call when you get to wherever you’re going,” his mother worried at the collar of her blouse. “Alright?” 

 

“I think we’re just gonna drive around, hang out,” Noah said. 

 

“Noah,” said his mother. She sounded desperate, embarrassed, like she was about to cry. 

 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, forcing himself to stumble forward into an awkward half-hug. “Trust me,” he said, pulling away quickly. “I couldn’t be putting myself in safer hands.” 

 

“You want some banana bread?” Noah asked, strapping himself into the passenger seat. “My mom made it.” 

 

Ronan scowled at him like Noah had offered him the severed limb of a dead baby. “Fuck no.” 

 

*******

 

“How’s Adam?” Noah asked, the cool night air rushing through the windows of the BMW as Ronan sped aimlessly down winding Henrietta roads.

 

“Fine.” Ronan’s jaw clenched. Noah knew why. 

 

“I’m guessing the home visit didn’t go very well, then.” 

 

Ronan made a noise of that of a deeply disgruntled horse-like creature. For a moment they just sat in a quietly shared contempt. Noah had never actually met either of Adam’s parents in the flesh. Or out of it. But he knew more than enough to know they weren’t worth one more minute of Adam’s time. 

 

Noah flicked his eyes to Ronan’s, gauging his expression carefully. “Is he okay?” 

 

Ronan scoffed. “Why you asking about Parrish? I thought you wanted to hang out with me.” 

 

Noah wrinkled his nose. “You still call him Parrish? Even though he’s your  _ boyfriend _ now?” He emphasized the B word the way a third grader might. 

 

“You think just because you’re alive now I won’t push you out of a moving car?” was Ronan’s predictable response. 

 

“Come on,” Noah prodded, thrill bubbling up inside him. “You know love it. That he’s your  _ boyfriend _ .” He put on an affected southern twang, “ _ And you can kiss him any time you want _ .” 

 

“Czerny,” Ronan clicked the locks. “So help me God...” 

 

Noah cackled in unexpected delight. Teasing Ronan. Ensuing threats of bodily harm. Another thing he hadn’t lost. 

 

Maybe Adele _ had _ been right. 

 

“Can we talk?” Noah asked him, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging his arms around them. “Like, for real?” 

 

Ronan’s expression was pinched but he nodded. 

 

“Yeah, course. What’s up?” 

 

“Well,” Noah fiddled with the door handle. “You know. I’ve been...having some issues. With the whole being dead and alive again...business.” 

 

“Isn’t this more Dick’s territory?” Ronan’s tone was almost hopeful. 

 

Noah frowned.  “No. Not like that. I wanted to talk to you...because…” Noah felt suddenly altogether incredibly selfish. Ronan had just lost his mother. He really shouldn’t be bringing this up. 

 

“Actually,” Noah shook his head. “Nevermind. You’re right. I should just talk to Gansey.” 

 

“No fuckin way,” Ronan spat. “I’m not wasting all this goddamn gas for nothing. Spit it the fuck out before I take away your seatbelt privileges.” 

 

Noah sighed. “You were different. Before your dad died.” 

 

Ronan didn’t say anything for a really long time. Noah was thinking about taking away his own seatbeat privileges. And then diving headfirst into the windshield.

 

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough, “Yeah. I guess. What’s your point?” 

 

“I was different, too.” Noah said. “Before  _ I _ died.” 

 

“My therapist doesn’t know about  _ that _ , obviously...she just talks about it in reference to 'extreme trauma'...but she keeps telling me that I have to like, accept the fact that I can’t go back to being the person I used to be...before.” 

 

Ronan’s expression was unreadable, his eyes staring blankly ahead at the coming road before them. 

 

“Adele says she thinks I can be, I guess, kind of.” Noah’s face twisted at the memory of his sister’s tear-stained pleading face. “I guess she thinks I can like...meld all the broken up parts of me together.” 

 

Ronan took a sharp left turn.

 

“Do you think that’s true?” Noah asked. 

 

“I don’t know, man.” Ronan lifted a hand off the steering wheel to run it over his buzzed scalp. “I don’t think there’s any kind of fucking science to it. You just have to...fuck, I don’t know. It’s not something you can just wake up and decide to do. You just wake up.” 

 

Noah’s eyebrows knitted together. “What you mean?” 

 

“Exactly what I fucking said, Czerny.” Ronan took his eyes off the road for a moment just to grant him with a withering sneer. “You just. Wake up. Every day. And you keep waking up. That’s all you can do. The rest of it just...happens. Or it doesn’t.” 

 

“Thanks,” Noah closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. “You really put it all in perspective for me, Lynch.” 

 

“Don’t get snarky with me.” Ronan’s voice took on a tone that was delighted in its mockery. “Respect your elders.” 

 

“I’m older than you.” 

 

“Sure, on paper,” Ronan reminded him. Of course all of Noah’s records and identification had him listed as a 24 year old  _ man _ . But his body hadn’t aged a day since his death. As far as how he would age in the days to come, that was still yet to be seen. He didn’t think he’d be able to pull it off. Pretending to be seven years older than he actually was. 

 

Ronan has assured him he looked like he’d been rode hard and strung up wet, as far as seventeen year olds went. 

 

“You could...pass for early twenties,” was Blue’s softer amendment to the fact that his time spent between death and rebirth had certainly left its physical mark.

 

The rest of the drive was a silent one. But comfortable. Noah had missed Ronan's company. He missed everyone. Terribly. He just wasn't ready to be around...so many people...yet.

 

“Tell Adam I said hi,” Noah told Ronan as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

 

“Sure,” Ronan shrugged, falsely casual. “When I see him.” 

 

Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You guys totally don’t live together. He’s staying at his  _ other _ boyfriend’s house for the summer.” 

 

“I’m giving you three seconds to get the fuck out of my car before you’ll wish you were back underground.” 

 

Noah broke into a fit of giggles as his heart surged with warmth. No one could make idle death threats so lovingly as Ronan Lynch. 

 

“Thank you,” Noah said, lingering at the side of the BMW. “For...everything.” 

 

Ronan’s face folded into something that Noah knew was as rare as it was precious. He wondered if this was the kind of softness he reserved solely for likes of his little brother...or maybe Adam. Regardless, he felt very special to be the one being gifted with it now. 

 

“Anytime, Noah.” Thankfully, Ronan made absolutely no move to hug him. 

 

*******

 

That was the other problem. The 2%.

 

He hadn’t outright said it to anyone around him. Sometimes it was easy for them to get the hint. Other times he had to fake it as to not seem completely unhinged. 

 

But the truth was that Noah couldn’t fucking stand to be touched. 

 

At all. Like,  _ at all. _

 

Sometimes just the thought of the hand holds and back pats and hugs he’d be forced to dole out throughout an entire day spent with his family made him sick enough to stay in bed for the entirety of it. 

 

When he finally worked up the nerve to tell his therapist, her response had taken him by complete surprise. 

 

Noah hadn’t expected to be presented with another option other than fix it. 

 

He felt like a broken toy. Something that needed to be fixed. 

 

That was why he was here, after all, wasn’t it? 

 

“If you don’t want to be touched, then you don’t have to be touched.” 

 

That’s what she had said. 

 

“And it doesn’t mean that you’re broken or that it’s anything that needs fixing. It’s just another thing we’ll have to spend some time talking about, working through, processing. There will need to be a lot of open communication between you and your loved ones about the personal boundaries you’ll be setting.” 

 

One on hand, it was a freeing sort of revelation. No more awkward hugs that left him dizzy to the point of nausea. No more fake smiles when his sisters squeezed his hands and nudged his shoulders and playfully elbowed him all over. No more worrying, no more obsessing, no more  _ touching _ . No more. 

 

But. 

 

On the other.

 

If there was one thing Alive Noah and Dead Noah had in common, it was that they both loved with their hands. With their arms slung around, their heads on shoulders, their fingers reaching out, always wanting to touch. To be touched. 

 

The sickness, the anxiety, the dread, that was all new. That was all Noah 2.0. 

 

And maybe that was just the reality of his situation. Another thing he’d have to deal with, like the doctor said. 

 

But then he thought about it. All the things he could have. Now that he was alive, and solid, and warm and fleshy and fully corporeal. Wrestling with Ronan. Bumping fists with Adam. Throwing his arms around Gansey and squeezing him as tight to his body as he possibly could. Running his fingers through Blue’s hair. 

 

Kissing— _ someone _ ...again...maybe...someday. 

 

It wasn’t fair. That he didn’t get to have that anymore. It just wasn’t fucking fair. 

 

So maybe it wasn’t something that needed to be fixed, it wasn’t anything Noah had to force himself to do. 

 

But he didn’t care. He wanted it back. Touch was something that belonged to him. Something he deserved. 

 

He took a deep breath and said, “No. I do want to be touched. Again. I just...I don’t know how to...get better...at it.” 

 

“You’re sure about this, Noah? You know it’s not something you need to act on or even decide right away—” 

 

“I’m sure.” Noah said. “And I do. Want to act on it. Like, now.” 

 

The doctor gave him a long, measuring look, then nodded. “Okay.” She heaved out a levelling sigh. “Well, in that case...all I can give you is some heavy weighted advice. There are no carved out rules to this sort of thing. Only the ones you create for yourself. And those, will of course, be changing as you go. But if I were in your position, for starters, I’d think of someone I really trusted, someone I felt very safe and comfortable around. And I’d use that person to help me...ease my way back into it.” 

 

“Okay,” Noah carded his way through her words, her vague implications. “So...then...what do I do with that person?” 

 

“As I said, that is entirely up to you. My advice would be to take things as slow as possible. Start small. Take breaks. Communicate constantly. This is a person who needs to be completely aware that this is a therapeutic experience for you. Someone who is willing to let you, essentially, use them as a temporary tool to re-acclimate yourself to a world of comfortable physical affection. Of course I would suggest a family member or a close friend. It might do you well to track your progress in a journal, perhaps. Keep a record of what you’re feeling, that sort of thing.” 

 

“And...that’s it?” Noah raised a dubious eyebrow. The doctor simply shrugged, gave him a sweet smile that reminded him that she reminded him of Blue and his knees went all pins and needles. “That’s all I got. Do you have a person in mind?” 

 

That stopped Noah short. He had lots of people in mind. Blue, for instance, was currently at the forefront of his thoughts. 

 

But that would be...weird. She was with Gansey now. He’d already  _ kissed her _ when she was supposed to be dating Adam. A transgression for which Adam had very generously absolved him of. Probably had a lot to do with the fact that Adam was far too busy playing tonsil hockey with Ronan these days to care much about any lips of girlfriends’ past, but, he couldn’t go violating the bro-code again. That was just unthinkable. 

 

And Gansey...well...that was just as weird, wasn’t it? Plus, as much as he loved him, the thought of playing intimacy tag with the guy nearly brought on a laughing fit in the middle of his therapy session. He wouldn’t be able to take it seriously. 

 

Ronan and Adam were out. Ronan because he’d be busy with Adam all summer. And Adam because he was leaving for college in the fall. Ronan deserved to soak up as much of Adam’s time as he could. And Adam would be gone in a couple months and if Noah wasn’t fixed by then, he’d be screwed. 

 

His family was...not an option. If he’d pick anyone, he’d pick Adele. But she was too freaked out about this whole thing. As much as she meant well, she’d put too much pressure on him. She’d expect too much. He couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing her if he did well and then...relapsed. Or if it never amounted to anything at all. 

 

Noah only had one person left that he...knew of. 

 

“Noah?” His doctor prompted. “You still with me?” 

 

“Yeah,” he swallowed down the newly formed lump in his throat. “It’s just—I think I’m going to have to write another letter.” 

 

*******

  
  


Henry Cheng’s flamboyant personality was not something Noah had yet grown accustomed to. They’d spent a fair amount of time together while the six of them were toiling away at the Barns, concocting the plan that would allow Noah to return to his old life, his old identity, and most importantly, reunite with his family. 

 

But other than the night he hardly remembered in which Henry had somehow coerced him out of his clothing and into a hot, traumatizing shower, the two of them hadn’t really spent any alone time together. 

 

The truth was that Henry kind of freaked Noah out. He was loud and excitable and always joking or groaning dramatically or singing to himself under his breath while he worked. He was like a Disney Princess on a sugar high. Full of emotion. Full of  _ life _ .

 

For someone who’d spent the last seven years being sort of dead, it was a little unnerving to say the least. 

 

Not to say Noah disliked Henry. There was a fuzzy dark halo of sludginess that wrapped around Noah’s feelings for Henry. But it didn’t take someone with a PhD to diagnose it as garden variety jealousy. 

 

Henry was everything Noah used to be. Everything he’d never get back. His presence was a slap in the face reminder of that. Which was no fault of Henry’s, but it ripped at Noah’s insides all the same. 

 

This was only further proven when Henry came traipsing down the stairs to where Noah had been told to wait for him in the sitting room, clad in nothing but a blood red silk robe. It was just past two PM. 

 

“My stars!” Henry cried with a flourish. “It’s The Boy Miracle, in the flesh! To what do I owe the honor?” 

 

“Hey Henry,” Noah tried for a smile. “Um. I hope it’s okay that I came by.” 

 

“Most certainly not,” Henry’s voice was rich with self-satisfied humor. “But you’re lucky I’ve got a horrible weakness for blondes. 

 

Henry talked to everyone this way, even —a credit to his bravery or perhaps lack of survival instinct— Ronan, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Old Noah would have gobbled it up, given it right back to him. Noah 2.0 merely flushed and scrubbed awkwardly at his hair. He might have forced out a laugh, but it could have also been an unflattering squawking sort of cough. 

 

“I just wanted to say, um, first of all,” Noah wrung his hands together, his eyes still deciding where they should be looking, “how grateful I am for all that you’ve done for me. I...I mean...it’s not something I’m sure I’ll ever be able to properly…” Noah winced, hating how strange and uncertain he sounded. “Express.” 

 

Henry eyed him for one long, uncomfortable moment, then waved his hand in a flighty dismissive gesture. “Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure, Noah. I’ve told you before. I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do. Everything I did for you was because I wanted to do it. It was an entirely selfish venture, altogether, so I don’t want to hear anymore nonsense about any proverbial debts being potentially repaid.” 

 

Sometimes Henry seemed like something completely unreal, a character out of a book. 

 

But then he tilted his head and said, “Okay, dude?” and the spell was, for the time being, broken. 

 

Noah nodded, “Okay. Yeah.” He opened his mouth to say something else before remembering that he had nothing else to say to that. “Okay.” 

 

Henry smiled a Cheshire grin at him. “I can’t imagine you came all this way, just for that?” 

 

“No, I... actually needed to talk to you about something else.” Noah shook his head, fumbling to extract the folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “It’s kind of complicated so I ended up writing it in a letter.” 

 

Henry’s eyes lit up with delight. “A letter! You’re sickeningly adorable, you know that?” 

 

Noah brushed off the unwelcome compliment with a flick of his head, forcing his bangs out of his eyes. 

 

Henry stepped forward, his hand outstretched, excited and expectant. “Well? Are you going to give it to me or do I have to beg for it?” 

 

Noah cleared his throat, focusing on an expensive looking vase that rested near the wall behind Henry’s head. “Well. The thing is. I kind of, was going to, I was thinking I could—read it to you?” 

 

“Sorry,” he backtracked immediately, thoroughly humiliated by Henry’s wide-eyed silence. “That’s weird. Yeah, I guess that’s really weird. Never mind.” 

 

“No, no,” Henry shook his head. “It’s not weird. You just surprised me. I’m not quite used to the reality of you just yet, Noah Czerny. You’re like something out of a book sometimes.” 

 

Noah gaped at him, his brain fritzing out about the similarity of what Henry just said to what Noah had been thinking about him just minutes earlier. He shook his head again, forcing out a steadying breath and shaking off his nerves. 

 

He cleared his throat and began to read aloud. “Dear Henry,” 

 

“That’s me.” Noah looked up briefly to see Henry beaming like he was being given a prestigious award. Noah actually managed to roll his eyes before he went back down to the paper in his hands. 

 

“I’m incredibly thankful for everything you’ve done for me since I came back to life.” He winced around the awkwardness of the sentence but ploughed ahead, ready to be over with this as soon as possible. “I know it’s really not cool for me to ask you for anything else, and you can totally say no if you want to, but I’ve been through all the other possible options of people I could come to with this problem and you’re kind of the only person who I...have left.” He flicked his eyes up again to gauge Henry’s reaction so far. His face was an unreadable mask, though he nodded for Noah to continue. “So basically the situation is that I’ve been talking to my therapist about some steps that I would like to take while I’m on the road to recovery—” Noah scoffed, mortified by his own writing. “Sorry, that sounds stupid.” 

 

Henry shook his head, still without a word, and ushered again for Noah to continue. 

 

Noah took a deep breath. This was the worst part. He looked pointedly down at his paper as he went on, “Something that, I think you know, better than anyone, that has been really hard for me to deal with has been...um...physical...things. Sensations. Touching. It’s been really overwhelming and uncomfortable and even enough to make me feel sick sometimes. My doctor told me it wasn’t something that I need to worry about fixing if I don’t want to. But I do. Want to. It’s important to me. Physical affection is an important part of who I am. And so, the thing is, I need someone who would be willing to help me start getting comfortable with that stuff again. Someone who,” Noah paused, unbearably embarrassed, “These were my doctor’s words, not mine, by the way.” 

 

“Someone who would be willing to let me use them as a temporary tool for therapeutic purposes. By which I mean—” 

 

“I think I know what you mean,” Henry’s voice cut through Noah’s concentration and he looked up again, slightly bewildered. 

 

“Sorry,” Henry sounded strange, almost...shy. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.” 

 

Noah shook his head. “It’s okay. The rest of the letter was dumb, anyway.” 

 

“I’d like to hear it.” 

 

“That’s alright. It was basically just a list of reasons why I can’t ask anyone from my family, because they’re already so freaked out by me. And Ronan and Adam, well, you know they’re kind of busy right now. And Blue and Gansey—” Noah made a face, he was rambling, he needed to shut up. “Anyway, it’s totally fine. I knew it was a long shot to come here out of the blue and ask you this....super weird thing to do. I mean, we don’t even know each other really, but I kind of was thinking that might actually be helpful, to me, because like—well, nevermind. It’s okay. It’s  _ totally  _ okay. I just hope you can forget this ever happened.” Noah couldn’t help but laugh at the insanity of this half baked scheme. What had he been thinking? Impulsivity was one of Old Noah’s bad habits. Of course it was only fitting that one would be the thing to carry over into his second life. 

 

“Whoa, wait.” Henry put up his hands, his face a pretty contortion of confusion. “I never said I wouldn’t do it.” 

 

“Oh.” Was the only thing that made its way out Noah’s mouth. He blinked up at Henry, stunned. “Wait. Seriously?” 

 

“Now, hold on,” Henry said. “I haven’t said yes, yet, either. Are you sure you really think it’s me who should be the one to...help you with this?” 

 

Noah felt his face going hot. This was a disaster. 

 

“It’s like I said,” he shrugged. “You’re kind of my last resort.” 

 

Henry scoffed and gave an exaggerated pout.

 

“I mean, that’s not...the only reason.” Noah must have looked like a bobble headed tomato by now. “You really helped me, that night. At the Barns, you know, when I was freaking out. And I think that us not knowing each other very well actually makes the whole thing, kind of, less awkward?” 

 

This was by far the stupidest thing he’d ever attempted to do, in any of his lives. If Old Noah had been privy to the going on of the future, he would have surely offed himself to save his counterpart from the embarrassment. 

 

“So I’m just…” Noah finally had the good sense to fold back up the piece of paper and shove it back into his pocket. “Gonna go.” 

 

“Oh, Noah.” Henry heaved a dramatic sigh. “Don’t worry. I’m only showboating. To be perfectly honest, you had me at ‘ _ Dear Henry _ ’.” 

 

Another troubling thing about Henry was that Noah couldn’t ever really tell if he was joking or not. Old Noah would have been intrigued by this, thought of it like a game. Right now it just made Noah nervous. Maybe Henry really wasn’t the best person to be doing something so important like this with. 

 

Momentarily trading his chagrin for offense, he said, “This is something, like, really serious to me.” 

 

“I know that, Noah.” It turned out Serious Henry was even more alarming than his usual over the top self. “If you’re serious about this, wanting to do this, and wanting me to be the person to do it with you, then I can assure you I meet that severity tenfold.” 

 

“Okay,” Noah felt a slow, surprisingly genuine smile spreading across his face. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it! I mean.Thank you.” 

 

“You know, I remember that night at the Barns a lot better than you do.” 

 

“I—” Noah didn’t know what to say to that. The abrupt change in Henry’s tone was whiplash inducing. There was something reverent to it. Almost like a warning. “What do you mean?” 

 

Henry continued to stare at Noah for another long, seemingly appraising sort of moment, then laughed. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud. Much more important matters at hand, here. Like, for instance, when do we start?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> joe biden came to me in a dream and said that i had to add more pynch to the story and i was like i mean ok sure if u say so and he was like "oh and sarah?" and i said, "yes, joe biden?" and he threw on a sick pair of aviators and said, "make it smutty."
> 
> ALSO I AM SO SORRY FOR SLACKING ON REPLYING TO COMMENTS ON THE LAST CHAPTER EVERYTHING HAS BEEN SO BAD IN MY BRAIN LATELY BUT I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO IMMEASURABLY GRATEFUL BY ALL THE LOVE FOR THIS STORY AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH IM SORRY I FUCKED UP IM TRASH. ILL DO BETTER.

The sky outside was a soft baby blanket blue by the time Ronan entered his bedroom. He’d kicked off his boots by the door, careful to pad quietly on his bare feet, not wanting to disturb Adam, who was still asleep. He had the blankets pulled up to his waist, his naked back facing Ronan. For a moment, Ronan just stood there. Unsure of himself. A little embarrassed. It didn’t make any sense. Adam was—they were—

 

They’d slept together often enough for it to be absurd for Ronan’s heart to pound at the prospect of climbing into bed beside him. Ronan pulled off his own shirt and jeans and slid under the covers, slowly, softly, quietly. 

 

Adam let out a horribly pained moan. “Your feet are cold.” 

 

“I was trying not to wake you,” Ronan mumbled, finding this a prime opportunity to wrap his arms around Adam’s middle and wriggle himself up against him. He nuzzled at the back of his neck. 

 

“Mmm,” Adam murmured, sleep thick in his voice. “Rest of you is warm.” 

 

Adam flopped around in bed so that he was facing Ronan, pushing against his chest to prop himself up. “How was Noah?” 

 

Ronan sighed heavily and rolled onto his back, removed an arm from around Adam’s waist and threw it over his eyes. 

 

Adam traced a tickling line down Ronan’s bare torso with his finger. “That bad?” 

 

Ronan huffed. “Not good.” 

 

“What can we do?” 

 

Ronan shook his head. “Nothing.” 

 

“Ronan.” 

 

“I’m serious,” Ronan removed his arm from over his eyes and turned back to face Adam. “He’s just...not okay. Right now. And I think he’s going to be that way for awhile. And I think that’s...fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But it’s...to be expected. And I don’t think forcing him to be social and play outside and be fucking bonkers about being alive is going to do him any good right now. He needs to not be okay for as long as he feels like not being okay. He should be allowed to be as fucked up as he wants without all of us hovering around, waiting for him to do something with our faces pressed up against the glass like he’s a goddamn zoo animal.” 

 

“Hm.” Adam shimmied back down into bed. “We still talking about Noah?”

 

Ronan found this was a prime opportunity to roll himself on top of Adam and kiss him, slow and deep. 

 

“Mmhey there,” he smirked against Adam’s lips, responding to the feeling of Adam becoming very quickly roused against him. 

 

“I know you’re just,” Adam spoke in between hot, feverish kisses. “Trying to distract me—”

 

“So you don’t have to talk about your feelings but—”

 

“I’m so horny—” 

 

Ronan pulled back from Adam’s mouth to trail light, teasing kisses down his jaw and neck. “That is quite the moral dilemma you’ve got there, Parrish.” 

 

“I find these actions to be—ah—” Adam’s breath caught when Ronan rolled his hips against his. “Toxic and manipulative.” 

 

“Oh no,” Ronan froze, holding himself above Adam, denying him the friction he knew he craved. “I better stop, then.” 

 

Adam growled and rolled them over so he was on top of Roan. “Shitbag,” he cursed lovingly, leaning down to kiss his mouth. 

 

“What do you want?” Ronan breathed into Adam’s hearing ear, growing restless from the sloppy kissing and haphazard rocking. 

 

“You know,” Adam murmured back, biting down on Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan hissed in pleasure.

 

“Oh, yeah?” He rasped, smugly amused. When Adam started to bite, that only meant one thing. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam all but whined, needily grinding his body downward. “Want you inside me.” 

 

Ronan had started out bottoming, when their relationship was new and sex was still something they could barely say out loud without breaking out into full body hives of embarrassment. This was mainly for two reasons. 

 

The first reason being that Ronan didn’t give any sort of fuck how they did it, as long as they were together and comfortable and getting each other off. 

 

The second reason being that after weeks of avoiding the subject for fear of Ronan’s reaction, Adam had reluctantly admitted that the idea of someone being inside him  _ like that _ frightened him. It seemed foreign and unpleasant and he didn’t think he would like it. 

 

At that time Ronan wasn’t sure he could quite handle the responsibility of being inside Adam  _ like that _ . There were too many negative variables. What if he hurt him? What if he wasn’t good at it? He would have done it, though. If that was what Adam had wanted. 

 

But it was just as well that he seemed to not, and Ronan wouldn’t have minded if he never wanted to do it  _ like that _ , because after he’d started getting fucked by Adam Parrish, he’d grown very attached to the practice and was not in any sort of hurry to stop.

 

It wasn’t until it was time for college acceptance letters to start rolling in when Adam had stormed into the Barns one rainy spring afternoon, tugged off his shirt without a preamble and told Ronan plainly, “I need you to fuck me.” 

 

Ronan had been nervous. They’d gotten such a comfortable system going, the whole Adam fucking his brains out on a semi-regular basis thing. He wasn’t even sure if he’d like it _ like this _ , but it was what Adam wanted—needed—and so Ronan had been willing to try it.

 

And in a surprising turn of events, Ronan had found that he loved fucking Adam Parrish almost as much as he loved being fucked by him. Maybe more. Sometimes. It depended on his mood. 

 

He loved watching all the tension drain from his boyfriend’s muscles, his face relaxing into soft ecstasy while he thrust inside him. He loved the way it unraveled him, made him loose and pliable and senseless. 

 

When Adam fucked Ronan, he was very focused and present. His vocabulary consisted of about four different phrases, such as: 

 

—Is this okay/good? 

—Do you like that? 

—Ronan

—Fuck 

 

When Ronan fucked Adam, he was like a cartoon robot malfunctioning. Broken sentences and nonsense babbling. 

 

The noises he made.

 

Just.

 

The noises he made. 

 

Getting to see Adam like that, completely open and vulnerable and willing to let himself not only receive such pleasure but to let himself react so unabashedly, let himself like it _so much_. Ronan could come just from watching him.  Objectively, it also felt really fucking good to be pressed deep inside a warm, slick, tight hole, but that was besides the point.

 

Currently, Ronan was flipping them back over, perching himself on top of his boyfriend, ready to serve. As much as he enjoyed Adam riding him, using his body like a toy that was crafted exclusively for his pleasure, this was not what either of them needed right now. 

 

This theory was solidified by the low, yearning sound Adam made when he was flat on his back again, arching up like a wild animal, panting out hushed demands. 

 

“Don’t tease me,” he whined, which months of experience had informed Ronan was Adam-Sex-Speak for  _ please tease me _ . So he spent a decent amount of time with his tongue circling Adam’s nipples and his hand just barely palming him over his boxers. 

 

“Ronan, I’m serious,” Adam rasped, but this was only after many, many minutes had passed. 

 

Sometimes Adam squeezed so tightly around Ronan’s sides it left strange, oblong-shaped bruises along them. Ronan fucking loved them. His favorite days were the ones that included reasons he’d have a chance to be without a shirt in public and someone would ask him, _what on Earth happened to you_? And he could proudly tell them they were from his boyfriend’s deceptively lean but powerful thighs. 

 

Except for the time Opal had caught him still towel-clad from a shower and he’d had to tell her very somberly that he was born with them. 

 

“Fuck, Ronan, ah—” Adam’s strangled tone sharpened Ronan’s senses and he picked up the pace of his thrusts, leaning down to capture Adam’s mouth with his, loving the feeling of Adam moaning against his lips while he fucked him through his orgasm. 

 

Adam bit hard on Ronan’s bottom lip as he slid out of him and Adam reached one hand down between them to finish Ronan off with his perfect, calloused fingers. They kissed lazily, murmuring disgustingly sweet things to each other until their muscles gave out completely, and sleep claimed them soon after. 

* * *

 

“That’s bullshit.” Blue stabbed at her yogurt like it had information she needed. “This whole thing is bullshit.” 

 

Gansey squeezed her shoulder with the hand that was attached to the arm draped around her back. Ran his other one through his hair. A nervous, uncertain gesture. Of everyone, for oxymoronic reasons, he’d taken Noah’s absence the hardest. 

 

The two of them were linked in magical ways Adam understood but didn’t  _ understand _ . He’d honestly just thought it was Gansey’s unwavering Dad Complex. He felt responsible for Noah. But one day Adam had caught him sitting alone in the room Noah’s Ghost used to inhabit at Monmouth. Adam had only just walked in but he’d had the feeling Gansey had been in there for a very long time. 

 

“I’ve been reading about phantom limb pains,” Gansey had said, which Adam thought was a strange and non-sequitur thing to say. 

 

He didn’t realize what Gansey had meant until days later, and Gansey had been in a better mood then, and Adam hadn’t wanted to bring the odd encounter up to him. 

 

They all missed Noah in their own ways. Gansey, dazed and melancholy. Adam, quietly aching. Blue, angry. 

 

Just angry. 

 

It was Ronan who seemed to be the least shaken of the lot of them, but that was probably due to the fact that Noah still spoke to him occasionally. It had been months since the rest of them had any contact with him whatsoever. 

 

“You’re being selfish,” Ronan told Blue. “He’s super fucked up right now. He needs time.” 

 

Gansey looked stricken, but said nothing. Adam knew what he was thinking. Adam thought it sometimes, himself. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe they should have let nature take its course. As unfair and heartbreaking as it was. Noah had died. His soul had been at unrest for seven years. Maybe that wasn’t the type of dead one should play God with. 

 

It was a horrible thing to think, but maybe what they’d done was horrible. Adam was too busy to ever quite fully suss out the morality of it. 

 

“Easy for you to say,” Blue scoffed back at Ronan. “You’re the special one.” 

 

“Grow the fuck up.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why he feels like he can talk to me, out of all of us. But I know damn well why he  _ doesn’t _ want to talk to  _ you _ .” 

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Blue’s spoon clattered messily to the floor. 

 

Ronan tapped his eye. Blue reached up to cover hers, instinctively. 

 

“That’s...not fair,” she struggled to say. “I don’t...he wasn’t…” 

 

Adam did not want to have this conversation. The reminder of what Noah’s Ghost had been forced to do. It was a painful, unsavory thing Adam could relate to all too well. His stomach turned. He grabbed his wrist under the table and dug his nails into his skin, willing himself to focus on the sharpness of the pain and nothing else, nothing else, nothing else.

 

“Let’s stop this, now.” For all the fatigue and wariness in Gansey’s voice, his tone held a final authority to it that could still part waters. “Ronan’s right. Noah needs time to heal, to be with his family. They haven’t seen him in seven years. Nor he them. He’ll come to us when he’s ready.” 

 

“Speaking of being abandoned,” Blue was still clearly chafing at Ronan’s words, “Anyone heard from Cheng lately?” 

 

“He told me he was busy with a project and he might be scarce for awhile,” Gansey said with a dismissive turn of his head. “You know how he gets. Locks himself up in his mansion like Victor Frankenstein. Some new prototype, I’m guessing. And that was only a week or so ago.” 

 

Blue crossed her arms and huffed. 

 

“Guess you’ll have to make do with just one boyfriend for the foreseeable future,” Ronan smirked at her. “How ever are you going to manage?” 

 

“No idea,” Blue sneered. “Got any pro tips?”

 

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Ronan guffawed. "You're losing your edge, Maggot." 

 

They continued their barbed banter until Blue was tucked away into the passenger seat of the Pig and Ronan was sliding into the BMW.

 

"Why were you so keen to pick a fight with Blue today?" Adam asked him. "You know she just misses Noah, like we all do. She didn't mean any harm." 

 

"She was pissing me off—the fuck?” Adam was startled as he was reaching to turn the key in the ignition only to have it snatched away by Ronan’s hand. He turned Adam’s arm over, inspecting the tiny little pink and red crescent moons that dotted his skin.

 

“What the hell is this?” His voice was wavering, teetering on a ledge. He wasn’t angry, he was scared. 

 

“Sorry,” Adam pulled his arm away, sheepish. “I was overwhelmed.” 

 

“What is so overwhelming?” 

 

Adam touched his fingers to his throat, the way Ronan had touched his eye earlier when he was talking to Blue. 

 

Ronan was silent for a long moment.

 

“Don’t do it again.” 

 

“Adam?” 

 

He started the car. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

 

He growled in frustration. “Do you want to fucking talk about it or what?” 

 

They’d already talked about it. These conversations only ever ended in arguments. Adam didn’t want to argue today. 

 

“No more than you want to talk about your mother.” 

 

That shut Ronan up for the rest of the drive home. 

 

Later that night, as they lie spooned together, Ronan said into Adam's ear, “You’re not okay.” 

 

Adam merely breathed out in response. 

 

“I’m not okay, either,” he added quietly. 

 

Adam turned so they were face to face. He touched his forehead to Ronan’s. “I know.” 

 

“But we’re okay, right?” Ronan sounded so much like a little boy. “You and me. Us.” 

 

“Somehow, yes. We are.” Adam told him. He let a slice of silence tick by. “I love you.” 

 

It made Ronan happy to hear it, Adam knew, and he was still learning how to say it without the words cutting up his throat. 

 

“I mean it,” he told him, which wasn’t very romantic, and meant you were pretty shit at declarations of love if that’s what you had to follow it up with, but it made Ronan smile all the same. 

 

“I know.”   
  


* * *

 

Noah squirmed uncomfortably. “Okay, stop.” 

 

“Sorry,” Henry responded automatically. Like he always did. It drove Noah insane. 

 

“You know I hate it when you do that.” 

 

“It’s a reflex!” Henry held his hands up in mock surrender. “What else am I supposed to say when you tell me to stop? Ausgezeichnet?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s German for awesome.” 

 

Noah rolled his eyes. “You just made that up.” 

 

“I didn’t!” Henry insisted. “This is Google-able.” 

 

“Right,” Noah sighed exasperatedly. “Like the time you told me hoverboards were real now.” 

 

“That was true, too!” Henry crossed his arms. “It’s not my fault you got your hopes up for something more spectacular. We were  _ all _ disappointed.” 

 

“Well,” Noah scoffed. “Fine then. I’d rather that than sorry.” 

 

“Alright,” Henry shrugged, always trying to cut away at the tension with sarcasm. “I’ll make a note of it.” 

 

Noah rolled his shoulders back and shuddered, exhaled a hard breath and attempted to regain his bearings. 

 

Henry looked at him warily. “Maybe that’s enough for today.” 

 

Noah cut him a murderous look. He was tired of being treated like glass. He got enough of that at home. 

 

Henry sighed. “Be honest, Noah. Is this helping you at all?” 

 

His doctor had told him he should start slow, small. To Henry, this meant over a week’s worth of sitting criss-cross applesauce on his living room floor, shaking hands and patting each other on the shoulder. It had taken a mammoth amount of persuasive efforts on Noah’s part to tell Henry it was okay if he wanted to put a hand on his knee today. 

 

“No,” Noah ground out miserably. “It sucks. All it does is make me feel uncomfortable and stupid. And then when I go home I’m in a bad mood and my family freaks out because they think I’m going to snap and stab them all to death in their sleep, or something.” 

 

Henry looked genuinely crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Noah.” 

 

“I really wanted to help you.” 

 

“This just—” Noah tugged at his hair in frustration. “This isn’t what I really had in mind, you know?” 

 

“Yeah,” Henry nodded, chagrined. “Wait. No. What do you mean?” 

 

“This weird robotic let’s shake hands for 30 seconds shit,” Noah sighed, gesturing wildly between the two of them. “I thought it was going to be more...more like…” 

 

“More like...” Henry blinked. “What?” 

 

“Normal! Natural, I guess. Like just...normal touching.” 

 

Henry raised an eyebrow. “And what constitutes as “normal touching” in Czernyland?” 

 

“Like, sitting close together on the couch and watching TV. Holding hands and walking around and talking and stuff. Hugging. Cuddling. Wrestling.” 

 

“Wrestling?!” Henry’s eyes went wide. 

 

“Yes, wrestling!” Noah stood up in a huff. “Normal, friendly, wrestling!” 

 

“I guess that makes sense.” Henry had this unnerving knack for swinging moods faster than Noah could blink his eyes. “But you told me we were supposed to start small. I just. I don’t want you to hurt you, you know?” 

 

“I’d be more worried about myself if I were you,” Noah argued, incensed at the useless coddling. “If you pat me on the back one more time, I might break your hand.” 

 

“You have such an appallingly violent streak in you, you know that?” Henry pursed his lips in contempt. “I thought pop-punk was more about, like, not wanting to get up for school in the mornings. And sharpies.” 

 

“Most of the time,” Noah deadpanned, long numbed to these kind of comments. He’d been spending the better part of days with Henry for the past two weeks. It had changed him as a person. 

 

“Well,” Henry sighed from the floor. “We can do that, if you want. I still think we should implement some kind of safe word, though.” 

 

“Uncle,” said Noah. 

 

“He and I are not on speaking terms,” Henry smirked. “And I’m not going to wrestle you. I have a weak bones and a delicate sensibility.” 

 

“That was a joke,” Noah said. 

 

“Mine or yours?” 

 

“You really like to push people’s buttons,” Noah noted. He couldn’t remember when Hery had become so aggressively irritating. He wondered briefly if prolonged isolation from anyone who wasn’t Ronan Lynch was turning him into Ronan Lynch.

 

“I thought that was the whole point of what we’re doing here.” Henry reached up to poke Noah’s stomach for good measure. “Maybe there’s a tiny reset button around back we haven’t found yet. I’ll go get an ink pen.” 

 

A traitorous smile ripped across Noah’s face. “You’re funny today.” 

 

Henry held his hands up to Noah. “Just today?”

 

Noah pulled him up so he was standing, a head and some taller than he was. Noah frowned up at him. 

 

“What?” Henry asked. 

 

“We just did a thing.” 

 

“You just said a statement.” 

 

“No,” Noah rolled his eyes. “I mean, a _thing_. A Normal-Touching thing.” 

 

“Oh,” said Henry. “Yes, I suppose so.” 

 

Noah looked down at their hands, still clasped together. “It’s actually...not so bad.” He wiggled his fingers against Henry’s experimentally. “I don’t feel like barfing.” 

 

Henry winked at him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

 

Noah let out an exasperated growl that coming from him was more like a contemptuous purr, then swiftly pulled Henry in for a hug. 

 

Noah let himself process the sensation of being pressed up against another person, Henry in particular. He was warm, which was nice. He had that peculiarly masculine scent of gluey hair gel and sharp, minty deodorant and/or cologne. Noah liked that smell. He could feel Henry swallow against him, his body gone rigid at the surprise of Noah’s unexpected physical gesture. 

 

“So, I know I’m on the clock, here,” Henry finally spoke, sounding uncharacteristically feeble. “But just so I can prepare myself: where are we on the vomit scale? Still under, say, a five?” 

 

Noah pulled back from him. “We just hugged for forty one seconds.” 

 

“That’s what you were doing? Keeping count?” Henry wrinkled his nose. “I thought you were maybe falling in love with me.” 

 

“Come on,” Noah prodded, smiling lopsidedly. “That was great!” 

 

“Or not,” Noah shrugged when Henry didn’t respond. “I don’t know—maybe this is all stupid.” 

 

“No,” Henry shook his head. “That was good. Really good. You should be proud of yourself. I was just joking around.” 

 

“You’re always joking around.” 

 

“I can’t help myself,” Henry collapsed onto the large periwinkle blue faux-leather couch that took up a good chunk of the living area. “It’s a learned behavior.” 

 

Noah sat down next to him. “I could get you a shock collar.” 

 

“The kinks come out.” 

 

Henry’s facetious nature was something Noah both loathed and adored equally. Alive Noah would have followed Henry around like a sick puppy, lapping up every stupid pun and inappropriate observation he had to offer. Dead Noah would have had to work too hard to understand them, most likely, quips passing through him like the negative space he sometimes was. Current Noah...struggled with them, with Henry in general. But there wasn’t much Current Noah didn’t struggle with, so this said more about Noah than it did Henry. 

 

“Can we go up to your bedroom?” 

 

Henry, who’d been buried in his phone, looked up with a startled expression. “You don’t waste any time.” 

 

“I’ve never seen it,” Noah ignored the bait. “We always hang out down here. Is it private or something?” 

 

“No.” Henry pocketed his phone. “It’s just not really...my room.” 

 

Noah’s eyebrows knit together. “I have a follow up question.” 

 

“I don’t really spend much time in there. It’s just a ceiling, some walls, a floor, I’m almost positive there’s a bed in there, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.” 

 

“Where do you sleep?” 

 

“Here, sometimes.” Henry patted the couch they both occupied. “Other people’s places.” 

 

“That’d be a good band name,” Noah thought out loud. 

 

“Mm,” Henry agreed. “Sounds folk-poppy.” 

 

Suddenly it became apparent there was a vital piece of information about Henry he did not know. The realization nearly took his breath away. “What kind of music do you like?” 

 

“Everything except rap and country,” Henry answered. “Sorry— I meant,  _ especially _ rap and country.” 

 

Noah sunk into the couch. “Can you ever just answer a question?” 

 

“I try not to.” 

 

“I know,” Noah said, the truth in that statement not going unnoticed by him. 

 

They fell into a silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable. Henry had pulled his phone back out and was tapping away at it. 

 

“Oh!” Noah sat up straight. “I have an idea!” 

 

“Famous last words,” Henry sighed. “But go on.” 

 

Noah slapped the tops of his knees like drums. “Let’s go to the mall.” 

 

“No.” Henry’s tone was flat. 

 

Noah spun toward him. “Why not?” 

 

“Hot Topic has changed its branding and I don’t want it to upset you.” 

 

“Ugh!” Noah groaned, falling back against the couch. “Fine. Forget it.” 

 

Henry finally asked, reluctance clear in his voice.  “What do you want from the mall?” 

 

“You’ll just be a dick about it,” Noah pouted, arms crossed like a disgruntled toddler. 

 

“Probably,” said Henry. “But at least you won’t be disappointed.” 

 

“I wanted to go shopping,” Noah eked the words out slowly, like they were foul tasting medicine and Henry was a small child who needed to have them snuck into his applesauce. “Not for myself. For you.” 

 

“For  _ me _ ?” Henry had not been expecting this. “What for?” 

 

“Sort of,” Noah said. “For your room. We could go get stuff.” 

 

“Stuff,” Henry repeated dubiously. 

 

“Room stuff,” Noah explained. “You stuff.” 

 

“Me stuff,” Henry parroted again, this time a catching note in his voice. 

 

“Maybe you might want to spend more time up there,” Noah said. “If there was stuff in it that you liked.” 

 

Henry paused. Opened his mouth. Closed it. “Noah…” 

 

“What?” Noah asked. “I’m bored. All I do is hang out at home and then come hang out here and go back home again. Maybe it would be good for me to get out.” 

 

“I feel like,” Henry narrowed his eyes into paper thin slits. “I’m being manipulated, somehow.” 

 

“Come on!” Noah exploded. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll buy you a cinnabon.” 

 

“Shit,” Noah felt his lungs deflate. “Does Cinnabon still exist?” 

 

Henry sighed heavily, but there was obvious resignation to it. “Yes,” he said. “Cinnabon still exists.” 

 

Noah pumped a victorious fist into the air and hopped off the couch, urging Henry to do the same.

 

Henry stood, but wavered. “Are you sure being in such a big public space, crowded with all sorts of people, isn’t going to upset you?” 

 

“Not if we get Cinnabon,” Noah grinned at him. “I’ll be cured! PTSD? Never heard of it.” 

 

Henry scoffed and reached for his car keys. “I can’t wait to tell the manager.”

* * *

 

“Well,” Noah panted from where he lay, back flat on Henry’s bed. “What do you think?” 

 

“I’m still not sold on the stars,” Henry replied, out of breath himself. 

 

“Well they won’t look cool until it’s dark!” Noah groaned. “I always wanted to have them in my room but my ceiling was too high.” 

 

“How ever did you survive?” 

 

Noah snorted. “I didn’t.” 

 

“Oh,” Henry covered his face with his hands. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” 

 

Noah burst out laughing. 

 

“I hope you’re just amused by my jackassery and aren’t having some kind of hysterical fit.” 

 

“Might be a bit of both,” Noah admitted. After he’d caught his breath for the second time, he propped himself up to examine the room fully. “It’s a nice start.” 

 

“Start?” Henry rolled toward him. His breath smelled like sugar and cinnamon and cream cheese. Noah didn’t mind it. “We’re not done?” 

 

“Not even close!” Noah flopped back down. “We should do this every time I come over. It’ll be like a motivational reward thing. If we make good Normal-Touching progress.” 

 

Henry blew out a ruffled sort of breath, but nodded in assent. “Alright.” 

 

“I have a question for you,” Noah spoke after a stretch of silence. 

 

Henry shifted in bed. “Shoot.” 

 

“You like girls and boys, right?” 

 

“That is,” Henry said, “Not what I anticpated.” 

 

“Gotcha journalism,” Noah replied, which earned him a surprising hearty laugh from Henry. 

 

“Why do you ask?” 

 

“Just the vibe I get from you,” Noah shrugged. “Am I wrong?” 

 

“No,” Henry said. “You’re not wrong.” 

 

“Does that,” Henry added after a moment. “Bother you or something?” 

 

“No,” Noah closed his eyes. “I’m the same, I think.” 

 

“You think?” Henry propped himself up with one hand. “Since when? It was the forty one second hug, wasn’t it?” 

 

“I just wanted you to stop feeling weird about that night at the Barns,” Noah told him. All the smug humor drained from Henry’s face. 

 

“So you do remember.” 

 

“Yep.” 

 

“And you think I feel weird about it?” 

 

Noah blinked his eyes, turned them back toward the light green plastic stars above him. “I think you feel weird because you thought if I knew you were into dudes  _ you’d _ think that  _ I’d _ think you were like, into it. And I’d be freaked out or something.” 

 

“That’s what you think, hm?” 

 

“Am I wrong?” Noah asked for the second time. 

 

“Not exactly.” Noah was surprised that Henry actually admitted to something without any smarm or pretense. “You’re in the general area.” 

 

“Well I don’t feel weird about it,” Noah turned to look at Henry. He had very interesting eyebrows. They were so straight and square. They looked soft. “You were helping me. It was nice.” 

 

In another shocking turn of events, Henry told him, “I didn’t do it to be nice.” 

 

But Noah wasn’t stupid. “I know.” 

 

“You don’t think that’s fucked up?” Henry asked, his voice gone quiet and serious. 

 

Noah shrugged. “I don’t know. Does it matter?” 

 

“Everything matters,” Henry said. 

 

“Why are you helping me now?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “I just wanted to.” They were on a roll now. Henry was never forthcoming like this. Noah felt like he was playing a concentration-based arcade game and if he so much as blinked he’d crash and burn. 

 

“Not because you feel sorry for me,” Noah said. 

 

“No,” Henry agreed. 

 

“And not because you’re an altruist.” 

 

“Nice SAT word,” Henry commented, and for a moment Noah thought they’d lost their sincerity momentum, but then he continued with, “But no.That’s not it, either.” 

 

“You just wanted to,” said Noah, he’d closed his eyes again. Henry’s bed was crazy comfortable. Plush and marshmallowy. 

 

“That’s what I said,” Henry spoke slowly, his voice gone soft again, this time dusted with exhaustion. 

 

Noah wanted to say something more, but his lips were leadened and speaking seemed an impossible feat. He felt his breathing going involuntarily slow. He rolled in bed, turning his back to Henry. Don’t fall asleep, he finally got around to telling himself, when he felt Henry’s body sidle up behind his, an arm slinging around his middle and pulling him backward. 

 

Noah thought,  _ this should be a thing I’m reacting to _ , but it was a faraway hazy notion. 

 

“This is normal, right?” Henry’s voice tickled his ear and Noah would have jerked if he wasn’t already half asleep. “Normal-Touching?” 

 

“Mm..hmm,” Noah replied. Or, maybe he just said it inside his head. To be safe, he grabbed for Henry’s hand blindly, wrapping him tighter around himself. 

 

He still didn’t feel like puking, which was a nice feeling to fall asleep to. 

 

* * *

The sensation Noah woke up to was decidedly less so. His phone was blaring what felt like was directly in his ear, even though in reality it was buried deeply in his back pocket. 

 

The ringtone was a screeching obnoxious 8-bit version of Grand Theft Autumn. Noah had nearly wept with joy the first time he’d heard it. It had been his ringtone before he’d died and came with so many good memories attached to it. Skate parks. Swimming pools after dark. Ice Cream. Bloody Knees. Summer. Now he was certain this is what played as you descended into Hell. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning, rolling over and up in bed, surprised to find Henry still and unmoved beside him. Noah grabbed desperately for his phone and flipped it open, though the ringer had gone off by the time he’d gotten to it. 

 

“Uh oh,” he breathed. 

 

**38 NEW MESSAGES**

 

**11 MISSED CALLS**

 

How had Noah slept through the first ten? How was Henry  _ still _ asleep? 

 

There were calls from home, Adele’s cell, Ronan. Messages from all of the above. Mostly Adele. 

 

“What is that?” Noah turned to find Henry sitting up beside him, squinting and pointing dazedly with his chin at his bedroom window. Noah whipped around to see faint colored lights flashing outside of it. 

 

“ _That’s_ what woke you up?” Noah balked at him. “Jesus.” He scrambled up out of Henry’s bed and yanked open the blinds. 

 

“Oh,” Noah’s phone clattered to the floor as he clutched at his head in alarm. “Shit.” 

 

“What?” Henry’s head perked up like a dog’s, his inky black hair sticking up at impossible angles. “What’s going on?” 

 

“Um,” Noah swallowed, blinking as he took in the flashing lights that were much clearer and brighter now. Red and blue, to be exact. “I think we’re in trouble.” 


End file.
